Rose Liu slipped quietly back into the Liu mansion, her steps light, her breath held. She had almost reached the staircase when a voice cut through the silence.
"Where have you been?"
Rose froze.
Naomi Liu stood at the foot of the hallway, arms folded, eyes sharp and calculating. It was the first time she had ever caught Rose sneaking back in.
"Well… Mom…" Rose began, her voice faltering. The words refused to come.
"Aye, aye, aye," Naomi said impatiently. "Spit it out."
Before Rose could recover, another voice joined in—lazy, amused.
"Oh, Mom, let her be."
Sally Liu strolled in, her silk robe brushing the marble floor, lips curved into a mocking smile. "I'm sure she just went to see that dirty old beggar again."
Rose stiffened.
"Oh?" Naomi tilted her head. "The baker?"
"He's not old," Rose blurted out before she could stop herself. "And you don't have to speak about him like that."
Naomi's brows lifted slightly. "Now you've found your voice."
Sally let out a soft laugh. "I really wonder what you see in him," she said coolly. "But then again, he suits you perfectly. You're both of the same status."
The words landed like slaps.
"Girls," Naomi called, her tone deceptively calm. A faint smirk flickered across her face, clearly pleased by Sally's cruelty. "That's enough."
She straightened. "I will not have either of you stain the Liu family's image. Two days from now, we will be hosting a banquet. Important guests will be attending—people of wealth, class, and influence. Not some ragged baker."
Her gaze snapped sharply to Rose. "I don't want the media raising unnecessary questions. You'd better know your place and behave yourself."
"I'm sorry, Mom," Rose said quietly.
She turned and walked away, retreating into her small, narrow room—a space so tight it felt like it barely existed within the mansion. Her room sat at the far end of the mansion, tucked into a corner that sunlight barely reached. The walls were bare, their original color faded and peeling in places, never repainted, never decorated. There were no framed photos, no curtains chosen for beauty, no ornaments collected over time. The space was small—smaller than the maids' quarters downstairs—and cold in the early mornings.
Sally's room, by contrast, occupied an entire wing. Spacious enough to host half a dozen guests, it glowed with carefully chosen colors, plush furniture, and fresh flowers replaced daily. It was a room made for someone who belonged.
She collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion weighing heavily on her chest.
After a moment, she reached into her bag and pulled out her small notebook. Her eyes skimmed over the words she had written earlier, and a faint smile curved her lips.
Then she reached for an old, hand-me-down laptop.
The screen flickered to life as her fingers moved with practiced ease. Lines of code flowed effortlessly beneath her touch. Rose Liu had never attended a formal academy, never received professional training—but coding was something she loved deeply. Something she excelled at.
Together with her best friend, Kalista, she had created an application designed to simplify internet use by eliminating interference. The app had gone viral—quietly, anonymously—and had already generated millions.
In the world outside, Rose Liu was invisible.
But behind a screen, she was powerful.
Rose Liu planned to help Demetrius quietly—just enough money to allow him hire more workers and keep the bakery running without worry.
Her gaze remained fixed on the screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard, moving with lightning speed. Lines of code stacked neatly, one after another, until finally, she exhaled and closed the laptop.
It was done.
She had successfully upgraded the program.
The update would require users to pay for the new version, generating even more income. Rose leaned back slightly, eyes steady. She had done this many times before—silently refining, improving, building. Over the years, she had saved millions using her technical skills, funneling the earnings into a private account she created the moment she came of age.
Independence had always been her dream.
She opened her small notebook and flipped through its pages, each one filled with neat handwriting—dreams, goals, milestones she never spoke aloud.
A soft smile tugged at her lips as exhaustion finally caught up with her. She lay back on the bed, clutching the notebook to her chest, and drifted into sleep.
A sharp knock startled her awake.
"Miss Rose, it's time for dinner."
Rose glanced at the clock. Though her stomach was already full from fresh bread and chilled cocktails at the bakery, she still rose from bed. Dinner wasn't about food—it was about the rare moments she could sit across from her foster father, Mr. Martin.
Those moments were precious to her.
He was rarely home. Breakfast was never guaranteed—business always pulled him away before dawn. Dinner was the only time she could see him face-to-face, and to Rose, that alone made it worth attending.
Another knock followed.
"Madam—Miss Rose Liu—dinner is served," Mathilda's voice echoed through the door.
"I'll be right down," Rose replied softly. "Let me take a shower."
She hurried to gather her things, washed quickly, and made her way downstairs.
The dining room was cold and eerily quiet.
They sat across from one another like strangers bound by nothing but obligation. The clinking of cutlery echoed against polished marble until Mr. Martin finally broke the silence.
"How are the preparations for the banquet coming along?" he asked Naomi.
"Almost ready," Naomi replied smoothly.
"Dad," Sally chimed in, her voice sharp and expectant. "I don't have anything to wear. Give me your card—I need to go shopping."
Rose hesitated, then spoke carefully. "I… I don't have a suitable dress either."
Without a word, Mr. Martin reached into his wallet and pulled out a black card—one of many. He handed it to Sally.
"Take your sister along," he said calmly.
Sally's head snapped up. "Why should I take her with me?"
"You have a massive wardrobe," Mr. Martin replied evenly. "Closets full of dresses, yet you still insist on shopping. So take your sister along."
Sally scoffed. "Fine. I'll need help carrying the bags anyway."
Rose's fingers tightened slightly around her napkin.
"Rose is not your maid," Mr. Martin said firmly. "Take a maid if you must. No more arguments."
Sally shot Rose a sharp, ugly look, resentment flashing in her eyes.
Though Mr. Martin never openly embraced Rose or showed her affection, moments like this reminded her of something important—he would never allow her to be humiliated or discarded.
And for Rose Liu, that small protection meant more than he would ever know.